Where my mind wanders this late is often a pensive place, most likely with the filters of worry dissolved in a sleepy haze. Sometimes I worry about strange things: the fate of the polar bear cubs I saw in the Arctic, a mountain goat seen on a remote ridge, the bird who plucked a writhing worm from the ground this morning. Then I ponder my friends and family, if they sleep well...if their motions of midnight are calm or like me, do they remain awake long after many of the natural guardians of reasonable thought have fallen dormant?
As myriads of thoughts seep in, I look at my little friend Xanadu peacefully dozing on a coat of mine I leave on the bed for her. There, in her little 8 lb feline body I find an ocean of tranquility, as if she has mastered things both primal and elaborate in her animal's heart and indulged in the beauty of sleep. Soon, I'll crawl into bed next to her and hope to assimilate myself somehow. The mastery of one's life is so simple when seen in a cat--a warm sunbeam, fresh air, a good meal and sleep comes like a blessing.
I'm getting closer every night, but still--as the clock continues to bring forth a new day in the cover of darkest night, peace remains a bad transmission that Xanadu is receiving crystal clear. At least she's a good role model though; concrete evidence not every midnight needs to be a waking one.
